


moonlight

by foolondahill17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolondahill17/pseuds/foolondahill17
Summary: Three chapters. Three boys during the war. And Luna Lovegood.Preview:Bellatrix said she was crying, but there was no trace of tears on her cheeks. She was pale and quiet in the darkness of the cellar. The shadows, instead of swallowing her as they did Ollivander, served only as her backdrop: as if she, too, was one of his dead ancestors sitting in a frame of tarnished silver.“I know you,” she said, orb-like eyes latched onto his face. “You’re the Malfoy boy. You’re Draco. I’m Luna.”Her voice was feather-light in the heavy darkness, soft and oddly soothing – like it belonged to the melody of a song. She didn’t even seem to move her lips; it was as if her voice was in Draco’s head.“I know you,” Lovegood said again.





	moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-post of an old story on ff.net. I rehashed the text and slapped on a new title to give me something to do when I didn't want to write grad school papers about Gothic literature's relationship to the enlightenment period. I hope you enjoy.

Draco stepped out of the fireplace and immediately registered that Bellatrix was his only welcoming party. She cackled, “Go downstairs to see our new guest, Draco!” 

Nausea pulsed in Draco’s stomach, something he did not think was a response to the residual dizziness of the Floo passage. 

“Another one?” He asked before he could stop himself. 

Bellatrix’s laughter reverberated off the walls. The drawing room was nearly unrecognizable. Furniture was displaced and portraits of his white-faced relatives glared at him through the film of dust on their frames, insulted by the filth and looking for all the world like ghosts. 

“The Lovegood girl,” rasped a shadow who came through the door. Draco did not look at his father, who was as unrecognizable as the house: hair unkempt, dark bruises under his eyes, stinking of whiskey. 

Bellatrix, astoundingly, was the less frightening of the two figures and Draco addressed is question to her. “Lovegood’s here?”

Bellatrix leered. “The Dark Lord told us to keep her here. He has use for her!”

Draco’s stomach rolled. It had been barely twenty minutes since he saw Lovegood dragged off the platform, shrieking as Amycus Carrow yanked her hair, wand to her throat to stave off any rescue attempts from Longbottom or the Weasley girl. 

Draco had never imagined Lovegood could look frightened. He always thought her dim and unaware. He knew now exactly what her face looked when it reddened in fear and pain. She was below his feet now with the wandmaker. 

Bellatrix was still laughing, and Draco wondered if it was at him. He was well-practiced at closing his mind by now, but, after all, it was she who had taught him Occlumency. She knew all his tricks. 

Draco swallowed. He felt Bellatrix and his father watching him. “Why can’t she go to Azkaban?” He asked to break the heavy silence left behind by his scattered thoughts. 

“She knows Potter,” Lucius said. “The Dark Lord wants her within reach.”

They would torture her. The thought broke free despite Draco’s every effort to stop it, and with it came the all-too familiar stirring of panic in his chest. The would torture her and she would scream. He couldn’t escape it. Even at Hogwarts Draco couldn’t get away: screaming in the hallways and classrooms and echoing in his skull at night. He didn’t want her in the house. He wanted her away. 

Let the Dark Lord go to her in Azkaban. 

But this, Draco knew, was not possible. Azkaban was reserved only for the useless Mudbloods and traitors who didn’t know anything. The Dark Lord couldn’t risk the Dementors eating away the minds of important prisoners. Azkaban was useful only for the broken. 

“What is it, Draco?” Bellatrix purred. “You don’t like the thought of her here? You think her cries will disturb your sleep?”

“No,” he said quickly. He couldn’t stop his thoughts anymore. They flooded his head like an unstoppable disease. “Keep her here. It doesn’t matter.” 

Nothing mattered. Draco knew what the stupid blood-traitors and Mudblood-lovers in Azkaban and screaming on the floors of Hogwarts didn’t know: there wasn’t any point. Fighting back was useless. Draco learned it was useless a long time ago when that foolish old man toppled over the parapet of the Astronomy Tower. There was no point to fighting back when it only meant that he would doom himself and his family to death. He would not see his mother, bloody and beaten on the ground, his father grovel in the dirt like an animal. 

“Wouldn’t you like to meet her?” Bellatrix smiled widely, teeth glinting in the light of the low flames behind Draco, turning back from green to orange as the Floo powder burned away. “She’s crying. Asking us what we’ve done to her dear daddy. The silly man who’s been printing the lies about Potter.”

“Your mother’s in her room, Draco,” said Lucius. 

Draco finally met his father’s eyes, grateful for the excuse to ignore his aunt. 

Bellatrix shrieked at Draco’s turned back, “Wouldn’t you like to say hello? You can ask her what she knows about Potter!”

Draco’s skin erupted into gooseflesh. Bile jumped into his throat. He knew well the surge of heat that ran up his arm as the Cruciatus Curse gushed from his wand. He could do it. He knew he could do it. He could stand Lovegood writhing at his feet if it meant he’d never have to watch his mother in the same position. 

But he didn’t want to. He hoped to god Bellatrix never ordered him because he didn’t want to. 

“Your mother’s waiting,” Lucius whispered from the doorway, and Draco took the escape, even as his aunt’s eyes followed him out of the room. 

OOO

Bellatrix said she was crying, but there was no trace of tears on her cheeks. She was pale and quiet in the darkness of the cellar. The shadows, instead of swallowing her as they did Ollivander, served only as her backdrop: as if she, too, was one of his dead ancestors sitting in a frame of tarnished silver. 

“I know you,” she said, orb-like eyes latched onto his face. “You’re the Malfoy boy. You’re Draco. I’m Luna.” 

Her voice was feather-light in the heavy darkness, soft and oddly soothing – like it belonged to the melody of a song. She didn’t even seem to move her lips; it was as if her voice was in Draco’s head. 

“I _know_ you,” Lovegood said again. 

The air was stale and smelled unpleasant. Pettigrew, Draco knew, was supposed to come down periodically to clean the prison, but he had obviously shirked his responsibilities and Draco wondered how long the wandmaker and girl had been sitting in their own filth. 

“Are they going to hurt me?” she asked. She did not sound frightened. 

Draco knew he’d never heard her voice before, but, still, it sounded vaguely familiar, as if he’d heard it once when she visited him in a dream. 

“Have you come to let me out?” she breathed from the shadows, face alight with hope. “Can I go home now?”

“Yes,” Bellatrix whispered at Draco’s shoulder, so near to him it was as if she, too, was inside his head. Her breath on his neck made his hair stand on end. “Let her out, Draco. I know you want to. You weakling. Filth. You small and petty child.” 

“Please,” Lovegood’s voice was louder than Bellatrix’s. “Please, Draco. I know you.” 

“Do it, Draco,” Bellatrix hissed. “Do it now. Take out your wand. Make her scream. Make her scream or you’ll take her place –”

Bellatrix’s wrath slapped Draco across the face like a burning whip and he snapped awake. He lay panting in his bed, unable to breath and head clogged with his thudding heartbeat. Just in time, he caught the shout of fear that threatened to leapt out of his throat and swallowed it back down. 

Around him his room was dark and empty. Quiet. Still. Safe. 

Not safe. 

There was nowhere left that was safe. Not even his dreams. 

Draco gulped air to quiet the nausea in his stomach and fell back against his pillows. Lovegood’s face hovered above him in his mind’s eye, plastered to the ceiling. He tried to blink her away, but her voice continued to whisper into his ear: I know you. _I know you._

OOO

Snow drifted from the gray clouds and collected like dust on the ground. When Draco was a child, he liked the snow. He liked to watch the individual flakes melt on his mittens. He trotted through the hedges, bundled in scarves, and chucked snowballs at the peacocks. He used to like the cold. He liked the bite of the wind and the sting it left behind in his cheeks. 

Now, he huddled by the fireplace, drawing what warmth he could from the sickly flames. He shivered under layers of blankets, hating the snow and the chill – a sinister cold that seemed to infect the very walls of the manor. 

Draco wondered if it was cold in the cellar. 

Pettigrew wouldn’t have remembered to bring down any blankets; he rarely bothered to bring them dinner. 

Draco had a schoolbook in his lap he was supposed to read. So strange that he still had to think of school at a time like this. But Hogwarts attendance was compulsory this year, even for Death Eaters. Draco shut the cover of his book and noticed his fingers were shaking: long, thin, trembling, and cold. 

Everything was cold. 

Bellatrix was upstairs, his father in the study, his mother in her room. For once Draco was alone. All was quiet. Everything was quiet. 

Slowly, Draco became aware of another sound, emerging from behind the dying crackle of the fire. The sound was gentle, soft and sweet, no more than a whisper. 

Draco stood from his chair, heart beating wildly. 

“ _Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright._ ”

It was a song. 

The voice grew stronger. It burst inside the room, ringing off the walls. Her voice was high and fluty. It cut through Draco like a knife. 

“ _Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace._ ”

There was a clatter of footfalls on the hardwood floor and Draco’s mother burst into the room, face taught with fear. Draco leapt out of his chair, but his mother rushed past him, drawing her wand. 

Draco tripped over his feet in his haste to follow her. She whipped down the stairs to the cellar. It was darker down there then it had been in the drawing room. A bead of light erupted from the end of Narcissa’s wand. 

The door at the bottom of the stairs creaked open. The singing stopped. 

Draco hovered behind his mother, staring over her shoulder into the cellar. his eyes took a moment to adjust to the mix of light and dark.

Lovegood sat in the corner of the room. Just as it had been in his dream, her white skin and hair seemed to glow in the darkness. She looked shockingly untouched next to the wraith that was the wandmaker’s shrunken form curled at her feet, nearly invisible beside her radiance. 

“Isn’t it Christmas Eve?” Lovegood whispered, blinking against the sharp light from Narcissa’s wand. “I’ve tried to keep track, but it’s possible I’ve made a mistake –”

“ _Silencio_!” Narcissa hissed. 

Draco flinched as if he’d been the object of her spell. 

Lovegood’s mouth continued to move, but no sound issued from her lips. Ollivander murmured in weak protest. 

“Stupid girl,” said Narcissa. “Don’t you know she’ll kill you if you keep that up?”

Lovegood raised a hand to caress her lips. Her eyes were wide and curious. 

Narcissa dropped her wand to her side. She turned on her heel and swept away, hand closing on Draco’s arm to drag him with her. 

OOO

Longbottom’s face was red and practically steaming. Draco was sandwiched between the stone wall and Longbottom’s unexpectedly muscly body, one paw tightening on Draco’s shoulder. 

“Where is she?” Longbottom demanded, spit hitting Draco’s face. “You _know_ , Malfoy! Your lot have her locked up somewhere. Tell me where she is or so help me, I’ll take out my wand –”

“Get off me, Longbottom,” Draco spat as he tried to catch his breath after being shoved up against the wall by Longbottom, taken off-guard before he could get a hold of his wand. 

Longbottom’s arms trembled with anger. Draco had never seen the boy look so fierce, and he looked to both sides for help, but he’d somehow managed to find himself in an empty corridor. 

“You Pure-blood filth.” Longbottom didn’t back down. Draco never imagined he could hold so much pent up power. “Luna’s worth ten of you!”

Draco sneered without meaning to. The words dropped from his lips out of habit. “Get your hands off of me, Longbottom, if you know what’s good for you.”

Longbottom’s hold loosened slightly, but not enough for Draco to snatch his hand out of his sleeve. 

“I swear – if you’ve hurt her – if you’ve done anything to her –”

“What?” said Draco’s voice, and, amazingly, he laughed. “Anything you do to me will be paid back tenfold in time. Maybe they’ll take it out on your little friend –”

Longbottom’s knee plowed into Draco’s stomach. Draco doubled-over, breath rushing from his lungs. He could have yelled, raised the alarms, the Carrows would be there in a second. Longbottom was on the top of their list; he would get far worse from them than Draco could give him. They would make him scream like they’d made Lovegood scream – and Lovegood was _singing_ – 

Lonbottom’s first smashed into Draco’s face and his head snapped backward. The back of his skull cracked against the stone wall. Sparkling lights pinged across his vision. 

Distantly, he was aware of Longbottom’s heavy tread as he marched away. Draco slumped to the floor, grappling against the cobblestone. He lifted his hands to his face and his fingers came away covered in hot blood. 

He wasn’t aware how long he lay there, catching his breath, trying not to vomit from the sharp pain wracking his head. No one came to help him. Once, he heard footsteps approach, then stop, a frightened gasp, but Draco didn’t call for help, and whoever it was skittered away the way they’d come and didn’t come back. 

Finally, Draco struggled to his feet. His eyes ached from the flickering torchlight. He leaned one shoulder against the wall as he slumped down the corridor toward the Hospital Wing. He dreaded finding someone. They would ask questions; Draco didn’t want to give answers. 

But the corridors were vacant, and, when he reached her, Madame Pomphrey repaired his nose without a word. Her attitude suggested that Draco disserved what he got. 

Draco sneered at her, cleaned his robes with a flick of his wand, and left without a word of thanks. 

OOO

All too soon, Easter arrived, and Draco had to return to the manor. 

He arrived in the drawing room with a roar of green flame. His mother bustled forward, more drawn, by far, than when he had left her at Christmas. It was as if part of her had vanished over the few months. 

She brushed ash off his shoulders and pressed a tray into his hands. “Quick,” she whispered. “Bring this down to the cellar.”

Draco fumbled for a hold on the tray. His mouth opened to protest: _What about Pettigrew?_

But she cut him off. “He’s in there,” she whispered. She nodded to the closed door of the adjoining room. 

Draco didn’t have to ask her who she meant. It was as if she’d spilled ice water over his head. His fingers tightened around the edges of the tray and he turned to go to the cellar. 

The door behind them opened; Draco’s stomach clenched. 

“Draco,” slithered a voice across the room. _Close his mind,_ shrieked a voice somewhere inside Draco’s head. His hands went numb. He almost dropped the tray. “Welcome home. Come, join us.”

Draco had no choice. He turned around slowly. He saw the gleam of white skin, like a skull floating in midair above black robes. He could not meet the cruel, red eyes, so he looked at the Dark Lord’s feet. 

“My Lord,” Draco choked through a tight throat. 

“What have you to hide, Draco?” the Dark Lord hissed, voice closing the space between them, twisting into Draco’s ear, snaking into every unguarded crevice inside Draco’s head. 

“Nothing, My Lord,” Draco said at once. The water goblet on the tray rattled as Draco fought the trembling in his hands. 

“Nothing, Draco?” Draco could hear a smile in the Dark Lord’s voice. The fingers of the Dark Lord’s mind probed Draco’s own, sharply penetrating every hidden recess. Draco winced. Narcissa’s hand found Draco’s wrist and she squeezed until her nail bit into his skin. Draco concentrated on the pain of his mother’s touch. “Your fear serves you well, Draco.”

The Dark Lord released him with a wrench. Draco gasped. 

“Come,” the Dark Lord turned, robe billowing behind him. “We are waiting for you.” 

Narcissa took the tray, and Draco followed the Dark Lord into the next room. Draco took his place beside his father, who did not acknowledge him. 

Roiling, unmistakable disgust rose in Draco’s chest at the sight of his father. _This was his fault_. The thought surprised Draco. He had felt pride, shame at his expense, but never contempt for his father. 

“I am going abroad,” the Dark Lord told the room of the Death Eaters. “I request that I should not be summoned for anything less than what I deem absolutely…imperative. If you call me away from my task without due need, you can trust that I will be most unhappy.”

The Dark Lord’s massive snake winded itself into a tight circle on the seat of an empty chair. It raised its diamond-shaped head and flickered its tongue at Draco. Draco looked away from the snake’s venomous eyes and wondered if the serpent could read his thoughts like its master. 

“Draco?” Narcissa’s voice from the other side of the door startled Draco into sitting up. 

His eyes flickered to the head of the table, where the Dark Lord leered at him. “Yes, Draco, you may now go to your mother.” 

The Death Eaters ringing the table laughed, Bellatrix loudest of all, but Draco did not care. Heart pulsing with relief, he scrambled to his feet and edged out of the room. 

His mother waited for him with the tray. “Go,” she said at once. “Stay with me in my room when you come back up.”

Draco didn’t think to complain about servant’s work this time. He rushed down the stairs to the cellar door, fumbling for his wand as he went. 

There were not people down there, he decided. They were clanking skeletons, reflections of people. They were tools, worth nothing more than to help the cause. They didn’t have souls. They didn’t sing Christmas carols into cold, damp air, sitting alone in the dark. 

“Stay away from the door,” he said, gripping his wand. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, crouched low to the ground, and slid the tray across the floor. 

“You’re back,” said a voice in the darkness. Her voice was harder to recognize now; parched and stifled by too much silence. “It must be Easter.”

“Shut up,” Draco snapped before he could stop himself. _Don’t talk to them,_ he chided himself fiercely. _Not people. Not people. Not people._

“Please, can you tell me if my friends are alright?” She was not pleading. She sounded perfectly friendly and matter-of-fact, like asking him about the weather. “Ginny and Neville? I know you know them. I know you know if they’re alright –”

The door clanged shut behind him as Draco darted back up the stairs. He didn’t stop running until he reached his mother’s bedroom door, and, if she found it strange that he was out of breath, she didn’t say anything. 

She let him crawl into bed with him, like he’d done when he was small and woken in the night by some unidentifiable terror. She’d lull him back to sleep by running her fingers through his hair, as she did now, but this time Draco knew no peaceful slumber lay between him and this waking, perpetual nightmare. 

OOO

Granger screamed so loudly Draco thought her throat must bleed from the force of it. Above her, Bellatrix cackled in a perverse duet of fury and delight, dancing around the writhing Mudblood on the floor. 

“It isn’t the real sword!” Granger sobbed. Weasley bellowed bellow them. Potter – Draco _knew_ it was him – was curiously silent, perhaps out of fear that his voice would give away his identity, or perhaps out of horror. 

“It’s a copy!” Granger screamed. “Just a copy!” Granger curled inward on herself, hugging her limbs around her body in the futile hope that it would lessen the pain. Draco had seen many people tortured, but never like this. Granger’s face was deathly pale. She shook uncontrollably. Draco did not think he had ever seen anything so repulsive, but he could not look away. 

“A copy?” said Bellatrix in triumph. “Oh, a likely story!” She raised her wand again. Draco knew his aunt didn’t care whether Granger told the truth or not; Bellatrix only wanted to hear her scream again, hear her scream until her vocal chords broke from the strain. 

“Bella,” Narcissa said faintly, a note of warning in her voice, but Draco could not see how his mother could possibly make Bellatrix see reason now. 

“But we can find out easily,” said Lucius quickly. His face shone with sweat in the light from the chandelier. He ran his tongue over his gray lips in eagerness. “Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not.” 

Draco’s stomach jumped in shock. He hadn’t expected to be called. He’d half-forgotten that he was present at all. It seemed to him that he watched the scene from a place far removed, anchored there merely by his grip on the molding on the wall. 

Granger panted on the floor. A trail of saliva fell from her lips onto the rug. Lucius watched him. Bellatrix turned her crazed eyes upon his face. His mother found his eyes and nodded. 

Draco rushed away, wand already in hand. 

The hinges of the door squealed as he shoved it open. “Stand back,” he told them. “Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!” _I’ll kill you._ He meant it. He would have to kill them. If he didn’t kill them, Bellatrix would get there first and make them scream, too. 

The goblin crouched on the ground. Draco pulled it to its feet. It was a disgusting creature: covered in wrinkled skin and it seemed either unwilling or unable to use its legs. Draco dragged it with him as he moved back toward the door. 

His eyes swept the prisoners – passed Weasley, red-faced, eyes swimming with tears; passed Potter, face still swollen and unrecognizable; passed the other boy, another Mudblood schoolmate; passed Ollivander, crumpled on the ground; to Lovegood. She was luminescent. Her eyes were wide and terrified. 

Terrified. 

The door clanged shut. Draco hauled the goblin up the stairs. Draco reached the top of the flight and flung the creature at Bellatrix’s feet. He did not look at Granger as he retreated back to the wall. 

“Please, Griphook…” a voice whimpered. It did not sound like Granger’s voice. It was not the smart, confident chirp she used to answer questions in class. It was not the haughty tone she struck when confronting Draco with her friends. “P-please.” 

Bellatrix shouted something. Granger started screaming again. Draco wanted to clap his hands over his ears. 

Bellatrix brandished a knife at the goblin. It muttered indistinguishably over the ruby encrusted sword in its claws. Granger lay face-down on the rug, barely moving, trembling slightly, breathing hitched. 

There was a loud crack from beneath their feet. Draco jumped. 

“What was that?” said Lucius. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar? Draco –” Lucius changed his mind mid-sentence. “No, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!” 

Silence rung in the drawing room as Pettigrew disappeared down to the cellar. His voice murmured something below the floor, and the door creaked open. 

“What is it, Wormtail?” said Lucius. 

“Nothing!” Pettigrew screeched up the stairs. “All fine!” 

Bellatrix turned back to the goblin. “Tell me! It is a fake?”

“Griphook –” Granger pleaded. 

“Do not _speak_ , Mudblood,” Bellatrix hissed and her wand spasmed.

Granger screamed again and thrashed on the floor. It stopped as abruptly as it had begun. For a wild moment Draco was sure that he, too, had shouted. In his mind he was yelling. Yelling until he could no longer hear Granger’s screams reverberate in his skull.

“Well?” Bellatrix spat. “Is it the true sword?” 

“No,” it said. “It is a fake.” 

“Are you sure?” Bellatrix’s shoulders heaved with excitement. “Quite sure?” 

The goblin nodded and the tightened its talons around the sword, “Yes.” 

“Good,” said Bellatrix. She cut a final gash across the goblin’s face before straightening. She shook her sleeve out of the way. “And now we call the Dark Lord.” 

She pressed a single finger to the dark, twisted brand on her arm. The mark on Draco’s own arm seethe with unexpected fury. Draco fought the urge to grip his forearm. It burned for longer than usual, and a terrible misgiving awoke inside Draco’s belly. The Dark Lord was angry. Potter was here –

“And I think,” Bellatrix prodded Granger’s unmoving body with her toe, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.” 

Draco’s stomach lurched. 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

A flash of red hair preceded a blinding flare of light. Draco didn’t have time to think. His wand was in his hand and he shouted the first curses that came to mind. Glass shattered. He heard scuffling feet. Draco dropped to the ground to take cover from the flying curses. He caught sight of his father, lying lifeless by the fire – 

“Stop of she dies!” Bellatrix screamed into the chaos. 

Draco stammered to a stop as if Bellatrix intended her threat for him. He stood from the floor and saw Granger hanging limply from Bellatrix’s arms. Draco’s aunt had her knife pressed to the Mudblood’s throat. 

Stop or she died. They were all going to die. The mark on Draco’s arm continued to burn. The Dark Lord was coming. 

“Drop your wands,” Bellatrix ordered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!” 

Weasley and Potter were the only two prisoners left. Draco wondered where the others were. 

“I said, drop them!” Bellatrix shrieked. 

“All right!” Potter yelled, and his wand clattered to the floor. Weasley’s followed Potter’s. 

“Good,” said Bellatrix, breathing hard. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!” 

The Dark Lord was coming. The thought should have filled Draco with the same, wild delight it did Bellatrix, but instead he was only left with a cold dread. The Dark Lord was coming and he was going to kill Potter. Everything would be over then. 

The Dark Lord was coming. 

Draco bent at Potter and Weasley’s feet to retrieve their wands. 

“Now,” said Bellatrix when Draco stood. “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.” 

Bellatrix stopped speaking and raised her head to the ceiling. Draco followed her gaze and froze: the crystal chandelier above them shook. Cracks formed in the ceiling around its moor. Draco realized what was going to happen a second before the chandelier began to fall. 

Bellatrix shrieked. The goblin shouted feebly. The chandelier shattered on the floor and shards of glass ricocheted into the air. Draco dived out of the way but a piece of glass leapt into his face. He covered his eyes with his hands but felt blood trickle from between his fingers. 

Potter was there. Draco heard his frantic breathing in his ear. Potter grappled for the wands in Draco’s hands and Draco struggling for a second, frantically thinking about a game of quidditch and Potter trying to wrest the snitch from his fingers – 

Potter yanked the wands away. All strength left Draco’s arms. Let him have the wands. It didn’t matter. The Dark Lord was coming. They were all going to die. 

There was a flash of red light, visible even through the blood streaming into Draco’s eyes. Someone’s hand tightened around Draco’s arm and pulled him away. 

His mother pushed him from behind and hissed, “Draco, get out –” but something distracted her and she released him. “Dobby!”

Draco pulled his hands away from his face. 

“You! _You_ dropped the chandelier –?” said his mother. 

A creature with abnormally large eyes and ears and ill-fitting skin stepped into the room. Draco choked on his breath because it was ridiculous, _unthinkable_. It was the disgusting little house elf that used to serve this very manor house – 

“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” said the elf shrilly. 

“Kill him, Cissy!” said Bellatrix. 

A crack sounded through the room. Narcissa’s wand was in the elf’s hand. 

“You dirty little monkey!” Bellatrix screamed, face twisted in rage. “How dare you take a witch’s wand? How dare you defy your masters?”

“Dobby has no master!” the elf squeaked. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!” 

Draco couldn’t believe this was happening. The Dark Lord was _coming_. 

“Ron, catch – and GO!” Potter bellowed. 

It happened too quickly. Weasley caught the wand from Potter and turned on the spot to disapparate with Granger. Potter lunged for the goblin, grabbed hold of the elf, twisted in mid-air, and – 

They were gone. 

The silence that met the crack of apparition was crushing. 

Bellatrix wailed. 

Draco stared at the horrifyingly empty space where Potter had just stood. The Dark Lord was _coming_ , and they didn’t have Potter. 

His mother grabbed Draco’s arm. She dragged him out of the door, terror plain in her rapid breathing. “Go,” she said jerkily. “Get out. He’s coming. To Hogwarts. Severus will protect you.”

Her eyes were blue. Draco did not look very much like his mother. He had his father’s features. He’d always thought his mother a very beautiful woman. She thought she still was now, even coated in sweat and grime from the battle, wild-eyed with fear.

“Come with me.” Draco tried to catch hold of her hand but she pulled away. 

“I can’t,” she whispered as if it was the most important thing she had ever told him. “He’ll call it treachery. But you – just you – can still get away. We can say you were never here. You left early to spend Easter at Hogwarts. He can’t touch you –”

“Mother –” Draco didn’t recognize his own voice. He could not stop shaking. Images of her bloody corpse swam hazily before his eyes. There was nothing he could do to stop it now. The Dark Lord was coming. Draco had failed. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Narcissa spat. “He cannot have my son. _Go._ ” 

Draco felt the mark on his arm flare with heat so intense, a hiss of pain escaped his lips. His mother flinched, but Draco knew she did not have the mark. She must have seen the pain cross his face and realized what it meant. 

The Dark Lord was there. 

Rooms behind them, Bellatrix began to beg. 

“Draco! Go!” Narcissa screamed, but Draco could not leave her. 

“Draco, Narcissa,” the Dark Lord said softly behind them. “What are you doing so far away from the rest of your family?”

The Dark Lord’s red eyes gleamed. Narcissa moved to stand in front of Draco. 

“My Lord, please,” she cried. “Don’t, My Lord! Let him go – not my son!”

The Dark Lord smiled. He fingered the tip of his wand. 

Draco could only see his mother’s cascading blond hair down her back. She tried so hard to protect him, but Draco knew something that she did not: there wasn’t any point. It was too late. Draco clutched his mother’s shoulders and pulled her tight against his chest. “Mother,” he whispered into her hair. 

The Dark Lord’s eyes flared. He raised his wand. 

OOO

Draco wondered what she felt like, Lovegood, when she was spirited away from the black, grimy cellar. He wondered what it felt like, to feel sunlight on your skin after months living in the dark. 

It was merely a reprieve; Draco hoped she knew that. Soon, the end would come for her, too. But he hoped she could enjoy it, however long the reprieve might last. 

Draco opened his eyes slowly. His head was full of cotton, but he recognized the springy give of the carpet underneath him. He was still on the floor. His chest ached sharply with every breath. 

So, he was not dead. It had not ended as he’d hoped it might. 

Someone stirred beside him. He peered blearily upward and he saw his mother, sitting against a wall with her knees drawn to her chest. She looked like a child, sitting in such a way, and the vulnerability frightened him. 

Perhaps she sensed he’d regained consciousness, for she untangled her legs from her arms and dragged herself to his side. 

“He’s gone, sweetheart,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse from screaming. “It’s alright now.”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was too sore to speak. 

“Hush.” His mother brushed his hair off his forehead, fingers icy against his hot skin. “Don’t speak, sweetheart.” 

Draco wondered what had become of his father. The Dark Lord must have returned to Lucius and Bellatrix after he’d finished with Draco and his mother. Draco thought that Bellatrix must have waited patiently for the return of her master, penitent upon her knees. 

“You’re safe now, Draco,” his mother murmured. She lay on the floor beside him and pressed her cool cheek against his. It was wet with tears. Draco didn’t think he’d ever be able to cry again. “You’re going to be alright, my darling. My baby, you’re alright.” 

Draco thought about Lovegood, imprisoned in the cellar beneath them – 

No. No, that wasn’t right. Lovegood wasn’t in the cellar anymore. Lovegood was gone. Lovegood had escaped hours – perhaps days ago now. 

Lovegood was safe. Lovegood had left Draco behind, and Lovegood was free.


End file.
